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All posts for the month January, 2013

Today my commute reminded me of every slasher film I’ve ever seen (or half-seen between fingers and through holes in an afghan). I (potential slasher victim) asked the hotel concierge how to get to the building where my training was to take place, without exposing myself to the Edmonton Winter. (Seriously, why do people live in Edmonton? Ten minutes outside and my lungs were killing me). The concierge described the underground route to Canada Place as “easy” and provided a map. Good service, but if it was actually easy I wouldn’t have needed a map.

Following his instructions I walked into a chilly brick-lined hall. The empty walkway sloped down to a set of industrial doors. It was lonely, poorly lit and ominous. No one leaped out at me so I proceeded, finding myself in an equally creepy parking lot (low ceilings and nasty air that would have made running away from a killer challenging). My full journey had me travel through stairwells and hallways, a parking lot, a theatre and then finally into the office building I was looking for. By the time I arrived the writer in me had devised a whole scene of me being pursued by a man in a mask. The death scene in my slasher flick would have been on the stairs of the theatre, with a view of the snow outside providing a great contrast for the blood as it splattered against the windows.

Sure, the setting inspired a great spontaneous writing exercise but it made the walk…tense. It was so creepy that I might just set a scene there in the future, but not creepy enough to make me walk the five blocks at exposed street level.

Writing Exercise:

Settings often inspire my writing. I enjoy walking through old buildings, and driving through small towns. Places like that speak to me, telling me stories about people who have lived there and often providing a scene that inspires a whole story. Take a walk through your community looking at buildings. When you find one that speaks to you sit down for a moment and look at the building. What made it interesting to you? Is it the building that called or a character you can imagine living, working or running from the building? Take your time to feel the space then spend ten minutes writing the story of this place. Make sure to snap a few pictures while your there to keep the inspiration going when you get home. Happy writing.

NB. If you can’t find a building that inspires you, take a look at the Forgotten Detroit website, it made me want to travel to a city I had never even considered visiting previously.

I met a generous and trusting person today. I ordered lunch and tried to pay with my Visa, only to discover that the Visa system was down. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem because I would use debit. But, yesterday I lost my debit card in the airport and can’t replace it until I get home. So no cash, no debit and no Visa. Ack! Enter the trusting lady in the soup shop, who just shrugged and said “pay me tomorrow”. I don’t know why I’m surprised by that kind of trust, but I am. I think I have to try harder to accept that there are more good trusting people than otherwise.

Other revelations I had during this trip:

I don’t own cloths that are warm enough to deal with Edmonton’s version of cold. (There should be a different word for cold here, and I’ve never been so aware of my cheeks and ears.)

I’m not cut out for a career in information management. (I will never forgive myself for putting this course on my learning plan.)

The full-body scanners at airports are the perfect tool for a secret alien invasion. (It may already be happening.) Seriously, you walk into the machine to be scanned for “security reasons”. But really? The scan just shows you a detailed picture of what’s under your cloths (creepy, and how is that any more effective than a pat-down?). The scan is clearly the first step in some sort of brainwashing, body snatching plan. The Scanned then “go away” for a while (on vacation or to a processing center, who can tell?) then they come back “a new person”. Security process or body snatching plan…keep your eyes on the scan.

Writing Exercise:

The flowers in Alice in Wonderland come alive and take on wonderful personalities (especially in the movie version). The Rose is elegant and wise, the Tiger-lily rude, haughty and threatening, and the daisies are depicted as flighty and rather out of control. Consider your favourite flower. If it came to life, what personality would you give it? Does the personality of your flower come from its appearnace or its growth pattern? Spend ten minutes with the flowers (preferably in a golden afternoon). Happy writing.

I was at a friend’s house the other night, talking and having an all together enjoyable time when I was forced to interrupt our conversation to inquire, in a casual sort of way, while I considered my options for escape, what she was doing with the straight pins?

Me: What are you doing? (I may have actually said, Why are you stabbing your flowers?)

Friend: Stabbing tulips. (she may have actually said “stopping the tulips from drooping” but I like my version better)

Turns out she was jabbing a straight pin into her beautiful, freshly cut tulips because tulips are zombies. Well the zombie of the plant world. You don’t believe me? Totally understandable but that’s just because you don’t know the facts (what you are about to learn may save your life in the tulip-zombie apocalypse). Apparently, cut tulips droop for two reasons. Firstly, because they are leaning towards a light source (moving once they are dead). Secondly, they droop because they keep growing after they are cut. (And by cut, read dead.)

Then as if that wasn’t creepy enough my friend informs me that to prevent the drooping (zombie-like activity) you stick a pin into the tulip right where the stem and the flower join… right through the head of the flower. Seriously. Does that sound concerning to anyone else? You kill them and they keep moving (growing, whatever,) and the only way to get them to stop is to pop them one through the head. Just. Like. A. Zombie. This may actually be where it all starts people.

Anyway, in other news I had a great conversation at work today.

Friend: I’m so burnt today.

Me: Why?

Friend: I couldn’t sleep.

Me <with a deep and really cool level of sarcasm>: What, excited by your new job?

Friend <slightly ashamed>: I have a cubicle and a really big plant.

Me: People whose souls aren’t dead are so cute.

Here’s hoping her new plant isn’t a tulip.

Writing Exercise:

Have you ever thought about what your super power would be? I would want to do something unexpected (like have chlorophyl in my skin so I could be solar powered), but that could also make me a lot of money (I haven’t figured out how chlorophyl can make me money yet, but I am open to suggestions). Because let’s face it, the super hero business isn’t exactly a way to get rich. Super villainy, that’s where the money is (please note I am not a super villain…yet). But maybe the money isn’t in super hero work because no one has ever really tried to commodify their super power. For example Super Man would have been really good at say bridge building (moving heavy things), or transporting really sensitive packages, or space exploration (why pay for rocket fuel when you have super man at hand?). Imagine a world where super powers developed, but rather than wasting their time trying to “fit in” and “live a normal life” the super got a great PR firm and sold whatever it was they did? How would you commodify a power? Would that cause problems? How do you set a price for your services without falling into the villain role and having to fight off a bunch of other supers? And what would happen to the people who got less valuable super powers (like chlorophyl skin). Would that be just another reason to go evil? Spend ten minutes telling the story of a super that went commercial.

Note to all real super heroes that read this.

I am not a super villain (yet).

I am not a super hero that has turned villain so please don’t gang up on me.

I just realized how ominous it looked to have my last post about my vulnerability to zombie attack followed by no posts for over three weeks. I was not, in fact, killed due to the lapse in my zombie security system. I was almost killed by two different colds, wrapped around an amazing vacation, all of which kept me away from my computer, and my writing (despite having carried a notebook with me everywhere on vacation and to my sick bed each day). C’est la vie.

The vacation (a Caribbean cruise) was great though and I took part in all sorts of risky behaviour that made it even more fun.

I zip-lined in Jamaica – having fun against my better judgment and fear of heights.

I swam with sting rays in the Cayman Islands – trying not to think about the Crocodile Hunter and sharks. (What keeps the sharks away when we are feeding squid to the rays creating a tasty buffet of calamari/human soup?)

And I explored the ruins of Tulum – taking amazing pictures and hoping the upper class Mayans buried there weren’t too ticked that their burial ground is such a kick-ass tourist attraction.

Between those fun, and potentially life threatening, activities I karaoked my heart out and won a place in the final show (as Cher). I auditioned for Gloria Gainer (totally knew the song they used for the show), Shania Twain (totally knew the song they used for the show) and Cher (not so much with the knowing of the song they used for the show). Two actual professional singers beat me out for the other parts but I got Cher (by singing Gypsies Tramps and Thieves, Cher at her best). For almost a full minute I was excited to win. I gave thanks to my budding chest cold which brought me down into Cher’s vocal range. I thanked my shaky, nervous voice for making me sound all dramatic in the song…then my world crashed in a bit when I found out what song I had to sing, in the show, in front of 1000 people… If I Could Turn Back Time. I think I had heard the song twice. How is it possible that I missed a whole decade of Cher’s career?

I was given two days to learn the song. I sang it to myself quietly. I sang it in my head, and when I decided I need to do some full volume practice I went on our cruise ship balcony and sang it loud and proud, just me and the waves. (And, I found out later, everyone in all the surrounding cabins and the open deck above because the walls are not as thick, nor the waves as loud as I pretended they were.) I was super confident in my abilities until the dress rehearsal when I screwed up the lines in three unique ways. I blame seeing the costume for the first time…not my absolute terror of being on a huge stage with lights and a live band. Turns out my fear was over nothing, it was a great experience, I rocked it (I remembered all the words in time for the actual show) and I may now have the performing bug. FYI, they gave me two drinks, a DVD of the performance and a cast photo for my efforts. So basically I was paid to sing on stage. I am officially a professional singer. Am so. Am so! <stamping my foot>

Back home now and recovered from cold number two I am going to spend the day with family sneaking away to write a bit while my husband and the rest of the crew shoot arrows at pieces of paper on hay bales enjoying Niece number 2’s Christmas present. (Andre is super excited to finally share his hobby.) I’ve decided I can’t let procrastination and fear get in the way of fun things like writing. I have no excuse now right? Zip Lines, Sting Rays, Mayan ghosts and singing live…writing should be a breeze.

Writing Exercise:

“What could go wrong?” The question that launched a thousand stories. Choose an activity from a recent vacation or adventure and ask yourself what could have gone wrong? What could have happened (likely or not) to make that experience less immediately fun, and more of a “funny” story for later. Spend ten minutes exploring all the Murphy’s Law possibilities of a vacation adventure gone bad. What if the Zip Line got stuck in the middle? What if the Sting Ray’s barb snagged on your vest and towed you out to sea? What if you used a flash for your camera in Tulum that reflected down into the tomb and hit just the right point to wake up a very grumpy Mayan ghost? Spend twenty minutes exploring what could go wrong. Happy Writing.